This time it was the capability bioinformatics had to study how a normal cell might be altered by disease, and the mapping of the different stages in its progression, that attracted Jack’s attention. Everything Jack had read so far indicated that bioinformatics would be a game changing tool for a lab that was devoting their work to the discovery of new medications, whether these drugs were part of the fight against new viruses or old microbes.
Ollie Wilson would be in high demand. A newly formed high-tech company that entered the fray and wanted to make its mark would not hesitate to place Ollie at the centre of its research team, granting him full access to the high profile projects the company was working on.
Ollie Wilson was right … he had access to information that was worth more than a second look.
Chapter Nine
“Where are you?” Harris’ voice was more inquisitive than annoyed.
“Be with you shortly.” Pole parked his bike near Liverpool Street station and was finishing the journey on foot. He was not bringing his brand-new Ducati to Whitechapel. It would attract unwanted attention and Pole did not need that whilst meeting with Harris.
He finally turned into the small alleyway Harris had indicated in a text. It had the requisite qualities … Garbage strewn on the floor in various states of decomposition, discarded objects lying against the walls of the buildings or simply abandoned in the gutter. Harris certainly knew how to choose his venues to create the right ambience.
“Hey … I like the biker look.” Harris grinned, stepping out from the doorway in which he had been sheltering. The wind blew his untidy hair as he walked towards Pole.
“Appropriate to the area,” Pole grunted.
“Except that you left your bike somewhere else … Very wise. I nearly had to headbutt a couple of little punks who noticed I was waiting for someone.”
Pole gave him a look.
“I know … the old shabby leather jacket ain’t worth any trouble … They probably thought I had some drugs on me.”
“Do you really meet your operatives in these crappy streets?”
Pole had reached Harris. He was almost a full head taller and yet he wondered whether he could overpower him in a fight. There was something alert and unyielding about Harris that Pole had learned to be wary of.
“We could meet at the Savoy if you wanted, but I’m not sure that would be as discreet as you might want it to be … Marsh goes there quite often.”
“You’ve heard about the latest in the Ferguson inquiry?”
“Yep …” Harris took out a packet of chewing gum and popped a couple of tablets into his mouth. He started chewing. “Marsh won’t get anything from MI6 and neither will Ferguson, I can guarantee that.”
“I’m mildly reassured.”
“But …” Harris kept chewing for a short moment, the muscles of his jaw working overtime on the piece of gum. “It will all depend on how careful you have been … Inspector Pole.”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“Did anybody in your team notice anything? Was the delay in calling Ferguson when you had some data justified? That sort of question.”
Pole clenched his fists, but Harris was right. Was he now assessing whether he should throw Pole to the wolves if push came to shove?
“Don’t worry, Inspector … I’m only telling you this because I find working with you pretty good on the whole. You deliver when I need it the most and you don’t mind taking risks without overdoing it.”
“Now that makes me really anxious, Harris.” Pole ran his eyes over the other man’s face. “When was the last time you paid a compliment to one of your …” Pole hesitated for a moment. The word source stuck in his throat and he would certainly never be one of Harris’s operatives, whereas an informant … if Harris spoke the word Pole would most certainly whack him one.
“… contacts?” Harris suggested, pursing his lips in amusement. “When I need something from them, of course …”
“The Ollie Wilson case.” Pole heard a noise coming from the top of the alley. He half turned to see what had caused it. Four youths had turned up at the corner of the main road and the small lane. They stopped for a moment, talking among themselves.
“Fuck.” Harris frowned. “The little shits have come back with some friends.”
Pole turned to face the small crowd head on. Their hoods were up. Two of them had their hands wedged in their trouser pockets, shoulders hunched forward. He assessed the alleyway quickly.
Derelict houses, squats, most of them occupied or boarded up. The top of the lane seemed slightly more promising. Still, there was little hope of getting the inhabitants to open their doors to strangers being chased by a group of angry youths.
“Where does that lead?” Pole jerked his head towards the top of the alley.
“One of the estates. You don’t want to get lost in there … I can tell you.” Harris had moved alongside Pole.
“This is the moment I perhaps wish I had a gun.”
“Nah, if cops had guns, these guys would have more and better ones. The only thing I can see at the moment is a cricket bat and a lot of attitude.”
Pole straightened up. Harris was right. The smallest of the group was holding something close to his leg. It rested on the ground and was half hidden by the baggy trousers he was wearing.
“So much for discretion.” Pole muttered. It would be a little tricky to explain a black eye and broken ribs to Marsh.
Harris stepped back a little and looked around, getting his bearings.
“When I tell you to run, just do as I say.”
“Why?” Pole was deciding whether to use his bike helmet as a weapon or put it on for protection.
“Pole, just be a champ … and do as I say.” Harris was not joking. His focus was real. It galvanised Pole .
“Now …” Harris turned around and started to sprint towards
